


Salvaged

by tawg



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cor-mmandos, Corgis, Depression, Grumpy Cat - Freeform, M/M, Team Dynamics, being in a funk, finding a place, hurt comfort, pet!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is unable to get out of bed, and no one is quite sure how to handle this.</p><p>Set in the same universe as '<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/596521/chapters/1074919">Rescued</a>' by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/Mikey">Mikey</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikey (mikes_grrl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rescued](https://archiveofourown.org/works/596521) by [Mikey (mikes_grrl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/Mikey). 



> I was reading twitter in bed five hours ago when I saw that my dear friend Mikey had a sad. Because Mikey is the cantaloupe to my corgi, the sexy to my cantaloupe, the snappy delivery to my annoying in-joke, I could not let a sad go unattended. 
> 
> This fic is set roughly between the final chapter and the epilogue of 'Rescued', as mentioned above. This fic does contain spoilers for 'Rescued' and I do encourage you to read it because it's pretty wonderful. That said, if you're willing to roll with a few curveballs (is that even a metaphor?) then I'm pretty sure this fic can be read without doing your homework. But go and read 'Rescued'.

Phil had never been someone who needed a great deal of sleep. Many of the assets he had worked with had the talent of sleeping for days on end after a mission. Phil usually considered six hours to be an indulgence. He rarely had an abundance of free time to spend sleeping as it was – the jokes that he was married to his job were not especially far off the mark, and when he had realised that he was turning into a lonely old man he had gone out and adopted a dog. One dog turned into three in a very short space of time, and Phil was very fond of the Cor-mmandos. Fury had once remarked that Phil was devoted to the dogs, but Fury was unable to keep himself from slipping them scraps at the table so Phil had no problem in disregarding the comment.

The point was... the point was that Phil was used to being busy. He was used to spending ten-hour days at SHIELD and taking the dogs for walks and looking after his apartment and watching bad television at two in the morning with corgis piled across his legs. Phil liked to think that he was someone who could roll with the punches. When things changed Agent Coulson would simply reassess the situation and keep on keeping on. 

Phil had no idea what to do with himself when Agent Coulson became a redundant entity.

He had no active assignments during his recovery period. He hadn’t been in to his office since... since before the tesseract had been stolen. One of the first SHIELD communications he had received after coming out of his post-stabbing coma had been from Sitwell, informing him that the paperwork had not been building up during his death and that the locks had been changed anyway. Jasper had told him to enjoy the time off, to catch up on ‘Say Yes to the Dress’, and to give the Howling Cor-mmandos his love.

Phil ignored the advice (though he did give Dum Dum kisses from Jasper). He didn’t have an apartment to look after anymore, as he no longer had an apartment. He had been moved into Avengers Tower in a moment of weakness, and while he appreciated the hospitality and was genuinely touched by the fondness that had been shown to him, he found himself put out by having to deal with a different style of bath towel, with having a neat and speedy dishwasher instead of having to clean the dishes by hand. He didn’t have to go grocery shopping anymore, because JARVIS kept track of what was in his fridge and ordered anything he was running low on. Phil used to have to drive twenty minutes to get to a supermarket that both stocked the things he considered essential _and_ was open at a time when Phil was available to go shopping. It had been a pain and an annoyance and a reminder that he was not especially good at living a normal life, and for some reason having that dratted task stripped away from him grated on his nerves.

He had tried to catch up on work, but the honest truth was that the reports being sent to him were merely perfunctory updates on broad action plans. Phil got more information about what was going on inside SHIELD when he hung out in the Tower kitchen, and the grammar was slightly better. Any attempts to access more detailed reports were blocked because Phil was un-dead in SHIELD’s eyes until he passed the physical examination, and the medical staff were not answering his calls.

So that left the dogs. Stevie, and Bucky, and Dum Dum. The Cor-mmandos had undoubtedly made the early stages of his recovery much speedier. The need to be able to crouch down to pet his boys meant that the initial dizziness he felt was pushed to one side and overcome. The physiotherapy regime of ‘light free weights only’ to rebuild the strength in his left arm hadn’t stopped him from scooping a corgi up for cuddles when the corgi demanded it. But, as much as he hated to admit it, there were limits.

Clint and Steve still took the corgis for their morning walks. And sometimes afternoon walks. Thor was apparently delighted with the dogs and, while Phil had _intense_ reservations about letting god and dog gad about unsupervised, it was hard to deny that the corgis delighted in his company. Even Pepper, who would undoubtedly be someone who was in need of a pet if only she didn’t have Tony stark to look after, had found her own way to dote on them. The regular washes Phil certainly approved of, even if he did miss the monthly bath sessions that had always left him covered in slightly more shampoo than the dogs. He felt that the blow dry and oil treatment was probably a little excessive, but Bucky apparently had a vain streak and the three of them did look rather polished when the groomer was done with them. The manicures were _definitely_ an indulgence, but perhaps Pepper was thinking about scratched floorboards. And silent paws made it even easier for Stevie to sneak up on Clint, which was something that Phil secretly never tired of seeing.

So. The dogs were in good hands. SHIELD was ticking along as it always did, a hive unaffected by the loss of a single bee. Clint was doing well. They’d had a rocky few weeks, but between simple phrases like “It’s okay” and “I’m here” and the team casually looking after him and the animals determinedly looking after him, Clint was back in a good place and only looking better.

So.

It was an odd feeling, standing in the middle of his bedroom with no urgent task awaiting him. Phil was someone who spent most of his adult life wearing suits and gradually peeling out of them as the day progressed. Such formality had been difficult when he had first woken up, and was laughable given that he had no business to attend to. So he had stuck to pyjamas and workout clothes as he dealt with bed rest and physio in turn. Phil was sick of sleeping – he had slept for four months. He was sick of tiny little two-pound free weights and the stupid series of twists and lifts he had to do with them. He was tired of being sick and sick of being tired and he hadn’t owned a pair of jeans in about a decade but he didn’t even have the clothes required in which he could leave the Tower and go and acquire more clothes (and damned if he was going to let JARVIS take that arduous task from him, too). He had woken up in a world that no longer had a place for him, and had been stripped of the tools with which to claim a place.

As Phil struggled to deal with the sudden, oppressing sense of emptiness that threatened to swallow him up from the inside, he caught sight of a movement on his bed. Donut had been sleeping in Clint’s spot (not that Clint had a definite spot, it was more that Clint had managed to map out some mattress territory that was not already claimed by Phil, Stevie, Bucky, Dum Dum, Phil’s tablet, or Donut). Donut was not, in fact, explicitly allowed in Phil’s bed. But then, neither were the Cor-mmandos. Clint had honestly just crawled in there one night with such a hangdog look on his face that Phil hadn’t had the heart to kick him out. Or the inclination, if he was being honest. Once the pack had realised that Clint was allowed on the bed, all of them apparently were. 

Phil looked at Donut. Donut looked back at him. She stretched out one stubby leg, yawned widely with her flat, kitten-ish face, and then rested her chin on her outstretched leg. Donut was someone who had her priorities sorted out. Phil considered the realisation that a cat had a better life plan than he did for the moment until he was thoroughly depressed, and then he padded back over to the bed.

“Good idea,” he said to Donut, and he crawled back under the covers. He reached out to rub Donut under the whiskers, and she lazily draped one paw across his forearm. Phil knew animals well enough to recognise a hug when he saw one.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey,” Clint called loudly as he came through Phil’s door. “We’re home.”

Phil didn’t bother calling back – he could hear the dogs running through his suite and knew they were giving away his location more swiftly than a verbal response could. Bucky leapt up onto the bed, while Stevie stood stoically in place so Dum Dum could use him as a step. Phil’s bed actually did have steps leading up to it, little stacks of books that allowed Donut to wander up and down as she pleased. Phil had not authorised the construction of the steps, but he hadn’t cleared them away either.

“You okay?” Clint asked, leaning against the doorway. He was sweaty, his skin shining in the late afternoon light that poured through Phil’s windows. He had probably been sparring, with the dogs supervising the bouts. Phil missed sparring. In his current state, he felt as weak as a kitten sometimes. As if picking up on his train of thought, Donut flexed her toes, gently reminding him that she had sharp claws and plenty of attitude.

“I’m good,” Phil replied. He nodded at Donut, who had shifted throughout the day until she was snuggled up along Phil’s arm with two legs draped over it. “Just bonding.”

Clint beamed. “Two of my favourite people,” he declared, striding across the room and bending down to give Phil a kiss. Dum Dum whined in protest, and Clint pulled away from Phil to tug at the dog’s ears. “I didn’t say they were the only two,” he chided the animal, and Dum Dum’s tongue lolled out of his mouth in happiness.

Clint was good with the dogs. Phil had known that he would be. He was better with Dum Dum than Phil had ever been. Phil was... happy about that. It was good. It was wonderful, actually, that Dum Dum had finally found someone to bond with. Great.

“You two have any big plans for the evening?” Clint asked, returning his attention to Phil and Donut. 

“We were talking about going to catch a show,” Phil replied airily. “But you know Broadway these days.”

“She is picky with her musical theatre, aren’t you my little witch?” Donut blinked at Clint, and otherwise looked generally unimpressed with the baby-talk. Clint always asserted that her face was just like that, but Phil knew that the cat had nuances. “I was going to cook dinner,” Clint said when he had finished making faces at his cat.

“Okay,” Phil said. He had stayed in bed all day, and he was definitely hungry. He also needed to shower, and brush his teeth, and pee. Suddenly he had a list of tasks that needed his attention, and the relief he felt was wondrous. “That sounds good. I’ll go clean up.”

Clint beamed at him, and gave him another kiss. Then he scooped Donut up and bounded out of the room, the dogs following him as though he were a fox and the hunt was on. Phil knew that Clint would feed them all scraps as he cooked, and he didn’t bother yelling after Clint about it. There wouldn’t be much point.

~*~

Phil woke the next day feeling lethargic. He’d always found it strangely fitting that oversleeping left people feeling tired – staying awake for long periods of time led to the release of adrenaline and endorphins which kept people awake, pushing the body to its limits in terms of strength led to an increase in muscle and endurance. It made sense. It was, however, the first time he had experienced it since his post-coma fog. 

Clint had cooked dinner. They had eaten it on Phil’s couch, surrounded by begging dogs and a very disinterested cat. Clint had happily told Phil about his day and Phil had asked enough questions to keep Clint inquiring too deeply about Phil’s own. Phil had loaded the dishwasher while Clint had showered off the day’s sweat and the dinner’s sauce. They had lain in bed together, watching some mind-numbing action movie that Clint had loved and Phil had been too apathetic about to hate. Clint had fallen asleep with his head on Phil’s shoulder, his arm slung across Phil’s chest and a leg draped over Phil’s thighs. The pack has wormed their way into position during the night, with Stevie being the last to fall asleep, his head held up and watching Phil with eyes that were bright in the darkness.

“It’s okay boy,” Phil had whispered, offering Stevie his hand. The dog had licked his fingers and then had finally settled down to sleep. And Phil had been left alone in the tangle of bodies, staring up at his ceiling as the minutes and the hours ticked away. He felt like he was waiting for something, he just didn’t know what.

And then morning had come. Clint had removed himself from bed at a reasonable hour and Phil had loitered, accurately claiming that he had not slept well. Clint delivered Phil a mug of coffee to his bedside, gave Phil a scratchy kiss good morning, and then herded the dogs out for their walk. 

Phil waited until the door had slammed closed behind them, and pulled the covers up over his head.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint only discovered by chance that there was something wrong. Pepper happened to ask in passing how Phil was doing, and Clint had answered that he was doing well.

“That’s good,” Pepper had replied. “I wasn’t sure if I should be worried. I haven’t seen him in three days.”

That made Clint pause. “Really?”

Pepper nodded. “He was on the roof, admiring the view, and we caught up. I usually run into him in the lifts,” she added. “I thought he might be sick.”

Clint opened his mouth to inform her that Coulson _never_ got sick, and then paused. Phil had spent Monday with Donut. Clint had barely seen him on Tuesday and had slept in his own room that night because he’d been kept up late by Thor trying to teach the Cor-mmandos drinking songs. Clint had let them into Phil’s rooms and then slunk off quietly so as to avoid Phil’s disapproving face. Clint had spent Wednesday testing new arrows at the range, and had not dropped in on Phil because any news of SHIELD always gave Phil a hungry look that Clint didn’t know how to wipe away.

“Three days?” he asked. Pepper picked up on his concern.

“JARVIS,” she called. “Has Phil been out of his suite recently?”

“Not since Sunday afternoon,” JARVIS replied smoothly.

“Has he been out of his bedroom?” Clint asked. There were plenty of ways in which Phil could have kept himself busy in his suite. There was no need to get worried if he was still moving around.

JARVIS paused, and Clint felt his stomach drop. “Briefly,” the AI said delicately. 

Pepper and Clint exchanged a look. “Can you take the dogs?” he asked. “I’m going to go up and check on him.”

“Sure,” Pepper replied. “I can babysit.”

JARVIS had the lift waiting for him as Clint jogged through the floor, and it went up to the level that Tony had dubbed ‘Little HQ’, where Clint, Phil, and Natasha had their suites. Tony had originally slotted them all into different levels in what he no doubt considered to be a perfect fit of needs and personalities. But Phil had requested to be one floor up and Natasha had moved one floor down and Clint wasn’t going to be left out of that happy and familiar mess.

Except that things hadn’t been as happy and familiar as they should have been. Phil had observed shortly after waking up that he had been left behind – the team had become so closely knit during his ‘death’, and while he had been so proud of them for coming together it was impossible to deny that Phil had been the outsider. Even with Clint and Natasha and Pepper doing their best to bring him into the fold, Phil was still at the edge of things. Clint had forced himself to stop worrying about it – Phil could be charming when he wanted to be, and certainly knew how to make friends for himself. Even with his reputation at SHIELD for being a badass and slightly terrifying agent, people still liked Coulson. 

Clint had told himself that things would even out once SHIELD admitted that it needed Phil like a hunting dog needed eyes. Phil would know where he needed to stand with the people around him, and everything would fall into place. Clint had been secretly enjoying Phil’s extended medical leave. He wasn’t sure where Agent Coulson would be required to stand in relation to Agent Barton. He wasn’t sure how much time they would have to be together once Phil resumed command of his eclectic collection of assignments. And, late at night when he was listening to the even sound of Phil breathing in his sleep, Clint wondered how long it would be until Phil did something brave and stupid and Clint lost him all over again.

Would it be better somehow, now that feelings had been confessed and reciprocated? Or would the ache of grief kill him the second time around?

Clint entered Phil’s suite without calling out a greeting. He walked through Phil’s rooms without trying to be stealthy, just a slow and steady plod of feet on floorboards. He came to a stop in the doorway to Phil’s bedroom, and leaned against the frame.

Phil was laying on his back, spread-eagled. He was wearing the same t-shirt and sleep pants Clint had last seen him in. He had a three-day beard, which Clint had never seen on Phil before. Not even the time they’d been on an eight-day mission through the wilderness together. There was a box of crackers and an apple core on Phil’s bedside table. Phil didn’t remove his glassy-eyed stare from the ceiling directly above him, but Clint knew that Phil was aware of his presence.

“So,” Clint said, because something had to be said.

“I’m fine,” Phil replied, and Clint reeled as a foundation of his life that had always seemed so solid split open beneath his feet.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint had agonised over whether or not to mention to situation to the team, only to have Pepper beat him to it. Everyone was assembled in the living area when Clint came down from Phil’s suite, Donut presiding over them from her perch atop her cat tree. Clint was never sure how she managed to clamber over it so swiftly, given that walking was not her strong point and standing up seemed to require more than a little effort. He was pinned down by a collection of concerned looks, both animal and human, and could only shrug.

“I think he’s sick,” he said simply. If it were anyone else Clint would have said that they were mind-numbingly depressed, but Clint had a hard time believing it and he suspected that Phil would never forgive him for saying it.

“People get sick,” Tony said cautiously, as if confirming that sickness was indeed a possibility.

“I don’t think it’s magic-sick,” Clint added.

Thor nodded. “Your witch has not spoken of any ailments from across the realms.” There was a formal weight of concern about Thor, and Clint wondered how much Donut had told him. It wasn’t all that long ago that Clint had been wondering if Thor was making the whole Allspeak thing up to mess with them. Things changed so quickly when you weren’t paying attention.

“Does he need a doctor?” Steve asked.

Clint considered the question. His instincts said “no” and “definitely” all at once. Then there was the added confusion that calling in a SHIELD doctor could slow down Phil’s return to active duty (something that Phil would not tolerate), while Phil simply wouldn’t be able to talk to a civilian doctor because too much of his life was classified. “He’d ask for one if he needed it,” Clint said instead. “I think he’s just...” Clint trailed off. Phil was never ‘just’ anything. Phil was ‘always’ and ‘certainly’ and ‘amazingly’. 

“You know,” Tony said, and Clint cringed in anticipation. “I wasn’t even that surprised that he wasn’t dead. Agent’s a hard guy to kill. He’ll be fine.”

Clint nodded. Everyone nodded. Stevie angled his ears back and whined, a low and pathetic sound.

“I shall take the little warriors to his side,” Thor said, standing up grandly. “It would not do for the Son of Coul to be without their protection while he is ailing.” Thor had quickly picked up on Phil’s actual name (though Tony had been delighted for the few days in which Thor had thought that Phil’s first name was ‘Agent’), but ‘Son of Coul’ was something of a nickname and while Phil had managed to avoid letting his feelings on the matter come to light, everyone else encouraged it. “Come!” he said, scooping the dogs up in his huge arms. “To our brother in arms!”

Everyone watched in silence as Thor and the Cor-mmandos marched to the lifts. On the one hand, Clint doubted that Phil was in the mood to deal with Thor’s boisterous presence. On the other hand, Thor was not the joyous man-child he often presented himself to be, and Clint wondered if the confidence and the ridiculous oration had been for everyone else’s benefit. Clint scooped Donut off her cat tree and cradled her to his chest. She licked her lips contentedly, and Clint decided that may as well be a vote of confidence.

“I’m going to go order some soup,” Pepper said suddenly, breaking the awkward silence that had descended.

“I’ll get some books,” Natasha added, unfolding herself from a couch.

“If he’s laid up in bed for the moment, this is the perfect opportunity to work on that Roomba,” Tony said, a glint in his eye.

Bruce made a show of sighing. “I guess I’m on Science Watch,” he said, but there was fondness in his voice.

Steve was deep in thought, but suddenly the furrow in his brow cleared. He smiled, and there was something a little mischievous in it. “Got it,” was all he would say about his own contribution to the Get Well Soon initiative.

Clint let out a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He still felt shaken, and a little scared, and a lot out of his depth. But the team had come together to drag Phil out of the darkness once, he had no doubt they could do it again.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint spent the night curled up around Phil. Clint felt that he was an adequate big spoon at the very least, and Phil’s voice had certainly lost that unused quality by the time Thor was done visiting. The Cor-mmandos were piled together on the floor beside the bed, somehow understanding that the humans needed some snuggling. Donut was curled up by Phil’s stomach, and Phil and Clint took turns running their fingers over her fur until she started to grumble. Donut took sleeping very seriously and she was not going to stay up all night just because her humans couldn’t sleep.

“I’m fine,” Phil said into the darkness.

Clint snuggled closer, pressing a kiss to the top of Phil’s spine and then resting his forehead against the back of Phil’s neck. “You’re great,” he mumbled in reply. Phil squeezed Clint’s hand, and eventually Clint fell into a dark, heavy kind of sleep.

~*~

As much as Clint wanted to loiter and worry and be largely unhelpful but very present in his concern, he was very thoroughly chased out by Pepper when she arrived the next morning with bagels and coffee and five different newspapers. She was in her pyjamas too, though she looked as perfectly groomed as ever.

“Go and take the boys for a walk,” she said firmly, and Clint found himself doing so. 

When he returned two hours later, Phil was sitting up in bed and his hair had been combed. He still had the beard, looking oddly scruffy in a wrinkled tee and bed socks, but he had been fed and he and Pepper were in discussion about Hammer’s latest appeal and the relevant international law.

Clint put a hand on Pepper’s shoulder and pressed a kiss to Phil’s head as the Cor-mmandos snuffled around the bed for crumbs. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Phil replied, though he looked exhausted. It was funny how spending a few days in bed could take so much out of a guy. “Enjoy the walk?”

“I carried poop for ten blocks because they wouldn’t let me stop at a bin,” Clint replied. “It was great.”

“That explains the smell,” Phil replied. The delivery was a little halting and the smile at Phil’s eyes was less than genuine, but it sounded so much like Phil’s usually dry humour that Clint ached.

“Go wash up,” Pepper said, giving Clint a firm shove away from the bed. “We have girl talk to finish up.” And then they went back to their conversation about the possibility to having Justin Hammer classed as a terrorist. One thing that Clint had quickly learned after moving into the tower was that you did not fuck with Pepper’s things.

~*~

When Clint came back after showering, changing, eating breakfast, feeding the dogs, helping Steve make Tony and Bruce breakfast, trying to talk Tony out of whatever he had in mind, and replying to a few SHIELD e-mails (people had noticed that Phil had stopped reading the reports they sent him – apparently there was a betting pool on as to whether Agent Coulson had retired, died, or gotten laid), the guard had changed.

Natasha was sitting with her back to the headboard of Phil’s bed, reading to him from a Sherlock Holmes novel. Phil had his eyes closed, though Clint could tell that he was still awake. He looked like he was at peace for the moment and Clint didn’t want to interrupt. He set about tidying away the few cups that had been left on the sink during the week and then stared deep into Phil’s fridge and freezer. Clint was a passable cook and Phil had fairly low standards when it came to food. Clint could get lunch organised and put something on to slow-cook for dinner. He thought about the times in his life when things had been the most shit, the things he had gravitated to. He would make chilli and rice for dinner, simple comfort food.

Natasha had left just before lunch, declining Clint’s offer to be cut in on the pile of sandwiches he was making. Thor arrived shortly after her departure, looking disgustingly regal in sweatpants and a Henley. “Some time past I was asked to explain the workings of other realms,” he said in response to Clint’s unasked question. “I have brought a notebook in which to draw diagrams.”

Clint shrugged, and gestured for Thor to head on through. The god returned a few moments later with Phil walking stiffly behind him, tying the belt of his dressing gown. They sat at the table and Thor launched into an epic and tangled tale of lineages and politics. Eventually Phil started asking questions, and Clint slowly saw the intense focus that had been so familiar return to Phil’s eyes. The pair barely slowed down when Clint delivered a towering mountain of sandwiches to Phil’s dining table, though they did both wait for Clint to bring plates and napkins before digging in. Clint joined them, as apparently alien politics was something he should be paying attention to now. Also, Clint had spent years and years watching Phil pay attention to things, to file away little details and order things in his mind. It was familiar and calming, and while Clint knew that he was meant to be taking care of Phil he wasn’t going to turn away the little moments that recharged his own batteries.

Thor left as it was getting dark, telling Phil that he would return soon so they could carry on. He left the notebook behind and Phil flipped through it idly, clearly exhausted but still occupied by all that he had learned. He reached out and touched Clint’s wrist as Clint moved past him, carrying the books that Natasha had loaned Phil over to the coffee table. 

“Thank you for the sandwiches,” Phil said, though the tone of his voice suggested that maybe he was talking about more than just sandwiches.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Clint replied. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

Phil lowered his gaze then, looking quietly embarrassed. “I’m fine,” he said. Then, more firmly, he added, “I’m good.”

Clint crouched down and pressed his face to Phil’s shoulder, felt Phil rest his chin against the top of Clint’s head. “Good,” Clint replied.


	6. Chapter 6

In some ways Phil was glad of the emotional buffer that his ebbing apathy provided, otherwise he would have been overwhelmed. 

Pepper brought him breakfast and news of the world every day. She seemed to understand that sitting up was half the battle, that being able to turn his thoughts to anything beyond his own hopelessness was a whole war to be waged. But Pepper was not someone who backed down from a challenge, and if he wasn’t able to focus on political upheavals and the mess of the economy then she would make him tell her everyone’s birthdays and then read their horoscopes aloud, before bullying him into helping her with the crosswords.

Natasha would come and read to him at different times each day. Phil had never been a fan of the mystery and adventure genres, given that he encountered so much of that in his everyday life, but they were Natasha’s favourites. She would read to him, stroking his hair and showing precious affection that Phil knew was a very rare commodity. She would always leave the last few chapters of the novel because she knew that eventually he would drag himself out of bed to find the book on his coffee table, and finish reading it himself.

Tony. Tony Stark with his innate ability to irritate Phil, brought a gift. Initially every floor of the Tower had been equipped with a Roomba, though Phil had taken to shutting the bot for ‘Little HQ’ out of his rooms because it excited the dogs. Tony had modified it so that it made less noise, moved more slowly, and had a special brush at the front specifically for collecting corgi hair. Bruce’s contribution was apparently the large googly eyes affixed to the top. Phil wasn’t sure which of them to blame for the dog treats it occasionally spat out.

Phil was honestly tempted to kick the new and improved version out of his suite as well. Maybe using a vacuum cleaner made his shoulder ache and shortened his temper a bit more than it should, but he damn well didn’t need a robot to keep his floors clean. However, when he kicked the blasted thing out of the way, it whined at him. Phil didn’t have the energy to combat emotional blackmail and decided to deal with that particular mess later. He did, however, feed the Roomba a chip in apology.

Captain Rogers nearly killed Phil with charm and kindness. He had arrived with a new blanket for Phil’s bed. “I used to spend a lot of time sick,” he said by way of explanation. “I always found that bright colours made me feel better, or at least made feeling sick not so bad.”

Phil had been too numb to blush or stutter, but had been coherent enough to thank to Captain for the gift. “If you’re feeling up to it,” Steve had said, ducking his head a little and giving Phil a small grin that _had_ to be put on because surely no one in real life could look so sheepishly excited about something so small, “I was thinking we could take the boys out for a walk.”

And instead of dying with fanboy glee and floating up to the Heavens, Phil had said “Sure, let me get dressed.” And he had changed into gym clothes and one of Clint’s hooded jackets, and he had taken Stevie’s leash because Dum Dum and Bucky were more excitable and more likely to drag Phil over in his current state. And he had taken the Howling Cor-mmandos for a walk with _Captain America_. 

Emotionally, it all happened from a great distance. Mentally, Phil was not as sharp as he would have liked. In reality, it felt good to get out of the Tower and good to walk through New York and great to see his pack enjoying themselves. Clint and Steve had already taken the dogs out in the morning, so they were happy to travel at a sedate pace. Phil found himself telling Steve about taking the dogs running at five in the morning and again at nine in the evening. Steve returned that the odd hours explained a lot, but there was no judgement in his voice about it. Steve was also someone who lived on minimal sleep, and they swapped stories about keeping busy in the small hours, about playing music softly and sorting through cupboards in the middle of the night because it had to be done sometime.

“Maybe when you’re feeling better, I can drop in on you,” Steve said hopefully. “The downside to sleeping with people who really like their sleep is that it feels strange to watch them sleep but even stranger to leave them alone.” He paused and considered his confession. “That was a lot of ‘sleep’s.”

“You should draw on their faces,” Phil advised. “It lets them know that you care.”

“And also that I’m bored,” Steve replied with a laugh. Phil shrugged, and smiled, and raised a hand to scratch at his beard.

When they returned to the tower he sought Clint out. “Help me shave?” he asked, and Clint looked relieved.

“It’s not that I don’t like the scruff,” Clint explained as he spread shaving foam over Phil’s cheeks. “And I don’t want you to feel pressured to look pretty for me.”

“You really think I’m pretty?” Phil returned. It was meant as a playful joke, but there was a clear thread of uncertainty in the question. Phil had held significant feelings towards Clint for some time, and he had never expected them to be returned, least of all when he was a broken and sulky shell of who he used to be.

Clint frowned at Phil’s face, turning it this way and that until he eventually conceded that kissing Phil on the cheek would be inadvisable given the distribution of shaving foam, and instead pressed a kiss to Phil’s nose. “You could have your face torn off and I’d still think you’re pretty,” he said firmly, and Phil snorted. “You are incredible,” Clint added. “You are smart and sexy and suspicious, and I know that last one isn’t usually a good quality but on you it is. I am very, very much in love with you,” Clint paused to collect himself, and Phil felt absolutely helpless as he stared into Clint’s eyes and drowned in the painful honesty there. “And I don’t care where you go from here,” Clint finally managed to add. “But I want to go with you. No matter... no matter how sad or scared or lonely or whatever this is you get, okay? You do what you need to do, but I’m going to be there with you.”

Phil swallowed once against the lump in his throat, swallowed twice. Clint’s eyes were bright and Phil knew that he wasn’t much better off. _To hell with it,_ he thought, and he pulled Clint close into a crushing hug, smearing shaving cream over Clint’s shoulder, the side of his neck. “I’m okay,” Phil said, his voice a little hoarse. “Thank you. Thanks to you, I’m okay.”


	7. Chapter 7

Phil did eventually manage to get shaved without being distracted by an emotional epiphany, and Clint took great delight in bounding up to him and running his hands over smooth cheeks. 

Pepper and Natasha linked arms with Phil the next day and took him on a threesome dog-walk, with Phil taking Dum Dum who was still a little skittish around the Lady Avengers, Natasha walking Bucky, and Pepper failing at hiding a smile as she walked Stevie. Phil didn’t realise it was a trap until it was too late. Apparently his limited wardrobe had been noticed, and Pepper was determined to remedy it. At least Phil got a pair of jeans and a jacket out of it, and after that he managed to distract Pepper with dog accessories. Jumpers and matching leashes were _definitely_ excessive, but his boys wagged their stumpy little tails and Phil realised that they were going to get spoiled rotten whether he gave his permission or not.

Exactly seven days after Phil had first crawled back into bed, Fury arrived. There were some hard feelings among to team, but Phil could still remember what it meant to be part of SHIELD and he held his friend no ill-will. It didn’t hurt that Nick turned up with a box of donuts.

Nick looked Phil up and down, and then shook his head. “Looks like I lost forty bucks in the betting pool,” he said with a sigh.

“I don’t even want to know what you were betting on,” Phil replied dryly.

Nick gave him a wicked grin. “I know you’re not great at following doctor’s orders,” he said in response, and Phil groaned. “I figured I’d better drop by,” Nick said, dropping some of the good humour. “I know you’ve got more sick leave up your sleeve than days some agents have spent on the job, but I am willing to bribe and blackmail to get you back in the field.”

Phil snorted. “Do I get to pick who you blackmail?” he asked. Donut bumped into Phil’s ankle, and he scooped her up.

“I’ll give you one assassination free if you come back today,” Nick said bluntly. “No one understands your filing system and there are rumours going around that you’re haunting the coffee machines. You know how I get around stupid people.” Fury’s one eye was twitching, as if to illustrate his point.

“You’d think you’d be safe in an intelligence agency,” Phil replied, tickling Donut under her chin. “I’ll come back part-time,” he said after a moment of thought, and Nick looked at him in surprise. “Things change,” Phil said by way of explanation. “Circumstances change.” 

The Cor-mmandos were no longer perfectly trained pets. Clint had been a bad influence on them and the rest of the team had been worse. They needed more attention now that they had a god wanting to train them for battle and JARVIS willing to indulge their whims when it came to playing in the lifts. And not just the dogs. Clint was someone that Phil wanted to spend time with, wanted to be with. Phil had gotten the dogs because his job had left no room in his life for a relationship, and he had been okay with that. But he had spent many long years being devoted to his work for SHIELD. He was interested in being devoted to something else for a while. Someone else.

“You’re sure about this?” Nick asked, giving Phil a searching look. Eight days ago, Phil would have jumped at the chance to get his old life back. It had taken breaking down for him to realise how much had been lacking in his old ways, how much he had been missing out on.

Phil looked down at Donut, and she looked up at him and licked her lips. “I’m sure,” he said firmly. “Point-five of full time hours, maximum.”

“Okay,” Nick said, nodding with calm, level agreement. Phil looked at his friend in surprise, and Fury shrugged one shoulder. “You always make the right call,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m not going to argue with your recommendation for returning my best agent to duty.”

Phil smiled. “Thank you.”

“But it will take a few days to adjust my plan. SWORD needs a new liaison and you buddying around with a god had made you the best candidate.”

Phil blinked in surprise. “SWORD,” he repeated.

“Uh-huh. Agent Meyer lacked a delicate touch.”

“I warned you.”

“I know you did,” Nick agreed easily.

Agent Coulson and Director Fury stared at one another for a long, considering moment. “Maybe I can come back point-seven,” Phil said at last, and then winced when Donut stuck her claws into the base of his thumb. Good intentions to start living for the better were one thing, but drastic change was harder to stick to than a gradual series of compromises. Phil couldn’t live for his job anymore, but he also knew that he would struggle to live without it.

“You know what,” he said as he carefully removed bits of Donut from his flesh. “This is something I should be talking over with other people.”

Nick nodded, and dropped a piece of his donut onto the floor for the Roomba to eat. “Call me when you’ve finalised your list of demands,” he said, and Phil nodded. Nick took his leave shortly after that, leaving Phil alone with a box of donuts, a lot to think about, and a small cat drooling on his palm.

“Do you have any insights into the matter?” he asked Donut. She snored in response, and Phil hummed thoughtfully. The Avengers Tower was full of people at any time of the day, and even if Phil didn’t want other people weighing in on this decision he didn’t have to deliberate alone. He picked up the box of donuts and left his suite, heading down to join the rest of his strange and sprawling pack.


End file.
